


For I Have Sinned

by dawnstruck



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bible Quotations, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Mentions of self-harm, Pining, Pre-Canon, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:19:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2439896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James 1:14-15 – But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For I Have Sinned

**Author's Note:**

> Had this sitting around for a while now and only now got around to writing the last paragraph which is why it might feel a bit jumbled. Hope you still enjoy. :)

Romans 6:12 – Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, to make you obey its passions.

The church was unpleasantly cold, but Connor was used to that.

The cushions on the kneelers were worn-down to almost nothing, making the wood underneath dig into his knees painfully. He paid it no mind, not allowing himself to shift in order to alleviate the pressure. This was repentance. It was supposed to hurt.

He had been here for almost half an hour, and he would be here for at least that time again, barely moving, safe for his lips mouthing out constant stream of prayers, in Latin, in French, in any language he knew.

It was still early in the morning, just about to get light outside, or as light as it ever got in midwinter Boston. There were no people around and wouldn't be for quite some time. Mass only started at ten; for now he was grateful for the solitude and the reprieve.

This was between him and the Lord. He would never let anyone else know. He couldn't. The reason he was here was dangerous and sinful. He knew God had not forgiven him yet, but hopefully he would.

Men were different, though. If anyone were to ever know of his transgressions they would only see the sin, not the penance he was giving.

 

Matthew 5:28 – But I say unto you, That whoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.

To Connor there was something sinful about the way Murphy smoked.

How his lips closed around the cigarette, gentle but with intent. How he flicked his wrist to make a flame spring forth from the lighter, how his eyes fell shut at the first satisfying inhale. How his mouth formed a tiny 'o' as he breathed fire into the night.

But the truth of the matter was that there was nothing sinful about it. It was the same manner in which thousands of other people smoked, how Connor himself smoked, probably. Murphy just did some stupid everyday thing and Connor was consumed by his own impure thoughts.

Murphy smoking was not sinful. Connor watching him was.

So he avoided looking at Murph. Did not let his curious gaze wander along the length of his brother's body. Did not linger on the expanse of his back when he changed into a clean shirt, or the dip of his collarbone when he tossed back a drink.

Connor prayed that his willingness to avert his eyes would make up for the fact that he did not even need to look at Murph to to have the image appear in his head either way.

After all, he had spent his entire life watching Murphy. Even if Connor were to suddenly turn blind and deaf, he'd still always know the contours of Murphy's face, the sound of his voice.

Murphy wasn't sin, but Connor was a sinner.

 

James 1:14-15 – But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.

“So, where'd ya hide the body?” Murphy demanded out of the blue and Connor faltered in his step a little.

They were on their way from McGinty's back to their loft and it was bitingly cold outside. Connor took a moment to fold up the collar of his peacock and clear his throat a little.

“What d'ya mean?” he asked lightly, knowing that this was a conversation he had hoped to avoid.

“Don't lie to me, Conn,” Murphy's tone was light as well, but his gaze was doubtlessly intense and searching, “Ya've been praying like crazy. Ya barely drink anymore. And, see, now ya won't even fucken look me in the eye.”

“So what?” Connor shrugged it off, deciding to just keep walking, his steps strangely loud in the dark night.

“So the only conclusion is that ya must've killed someone,” Murphy elaborated, catching up to him once more, “Yer asking God for forgiveness an' are afraid ya might spill somethin' if ya get too drunk. So. Where'd ya hide the body.”

“There's no body, Murph,” Connor sighed, absurdedly relieved that this was the deduction his brother had come to.

“Then what's the fucken deal, man?” Murphy was starting to sound upset, “Yer knees must be black and blue from all the groveling ya have done. An' I wouldn't be surprised if ya caught hypothermia in that fucken church.”

“Yer talkin' about a house of the Lord there, Murph,” Connor chastised him automatically, but was ignored.

“What I'm talkin' about is the blatant fact that me brother is tormetin' himself over somethin' that can't be that bad in the first place,” Murphy insisted.  
“It's nothing, Murphy,” he said, keeping his brisk pace, “Just leave it.”

When he felt a gloved hand on his shoulder, he just shrugged it off, and then it took him several more steps to realize that Murphy was no longer following.

When Connor looked back, his brother was standing on the sidewalk like a dejected puppy. Connor sighed again, but walked back nevertheless.

For the first time in a long time he allowed himself to directly look at Murphy's face. There were dark shadows under his deep blue eyes and lines around his downturned mouth as if he had been frowning a lot lately. And Connor hadn't even noticed.

“Yer not sick, are ya?” Murphy asked, his voice that of a lost little child, and a sharp breath escaped from Connor's lungs, turning white in the cold air. He'd been so caught up in his own damnation that it hadn't even occurred to him what his brother might think about his sudden reticence.

“No, I'm not sick,” he replied evenly, though to himself he added, At least not in the way you might think I am.

“An' yer not angry with me over somethin'?” Murphy wanted to know, “'cause if it's somethin' I did-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Connor took him by the shoulders, “Ya didn't do anything. I just had a lot on my mind lately.”

And suddenly he had an armful of Murphy. Murphy who was clinging to him and pressing his face against the cool skin of Connor's neck

Connor inhaled sharply, but didn't say anything, because he knew that he had to let Murphy have this moment. Even if it was destroying himself.

 

Mark 7:20-23 – And he said, That which cometh out of the man, that defileth the man.

“We're out of smokes,” Murphy observed with a groan, “I'll go get some.”

“Aye,” Connor replied from his perch on his bed, “You do that.”

“I'll make it quick,” Murphy promised, throwing on his coat and grabbing his wallet. Two seconds later he was out of the door.  
At once Connor let himself fall back the old mattress, staring up at the moldy ceiling, the cracked paint, the water stains.  
Today at been a particularly bad day.

It had been snowing for hours and they'd been holed up in the loft, louging around, reading, killing time.

Murphy had been bored out of his mind, though, itching for a chnance to finally get out. He'd tossed and turned on his bed, limbs askew and head tilted back, heavy sighs escaping from him every other minute.

He'd been like that as a child, too. Easily bored and loathe to be confined to such a small place, preferring to run around and discover the world. For Connor it had been hell, then and now.

Then, because Murph could be an annoying little fucker when he wanted to be.

Now, because Connor's gaze kept straying to Murphy's prostrate form, spread out on the sheets like a ritual sacrifice. Connor had bit his tongue until he could taste blood in his mouth.

Now Murphy was out the door and wouldn't be back for at least twenty minutes, and Connor hadn't really been alone in weeks.  
And he wasn't supposed to, he knew it was wrong, he had fought so hard to keep his thoughts in line, to not stray from the right path, but suddenly it all came crashing into him, the surpressed feelings, the hidden passion.

Because Connor MacManus had always fancied himself a strong man, but now all he knew was weakness. Weakness and sin.

His flesh was hard and aching before he could even reach for it, straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.

The air in the loft was as cool as his hand as it shoved down the front of his pants. He let out a hiss when his cold fingers touched the heated skin, but Connor closed his grip anyway.

And already it was too much, already too much leeway, too much admission. He had never allowed this to happen before, not like this, so obviously enticed by his brother's lingering smell in the room. So easy to imagine that Murphy was just half a meter away on the other bed, doing the same.

The had done that in their teens, Connor remembered much too clearly. Stroking themselves to completion, back in their room in their mother's house, breathy little moans in the dark the only acknowledgement of what was happening. They'd never talked about it, shrugged it off as just another of those weird things growing boys did.

And Connor had never listened too closely, but he knew, he knew what Murphy sounded like when he climaxed, and that knowledge, that memory had Connor fucking up into his fist, hard and fast and unforgiving, until his hips bucked off the mattress and he could feel himself coming all over his hand.

For a few seconds he just lay there, panting, lingering in the afterglow, but then the shame was upon him.

Quickly, he pulled his hand out and wiped if off on the sheets in disgust and horror. For he had given in to his shameful desires, he had know it was wrong and done it anyway.

And if he had sunken this far who was to say that he wouldn't do the unthinkable and actually express his sin in Murphy's presence?

No, Connor would never do that. He'd rather die than taint his brother with the confession of his sins. He had to punish himself in another manner.

 

Matthew 5:29 – If your right eye causes you sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than your whole body be thrown into hell.

“What, yer already asleep?” Murphy complained, kicking the door shut behind him. The sound of it echoed through the bare apartment but it rang hollow inside of Connor, reverberating through his bones.

He felt strangely heavy, but pleasantly numb, like everything was covered in cotton, eating up all the noises and colors.

“How can ya even lay here in just a shirt?” Murphy huffed, tossing a pack of cigarettes at him. It hit his back but then bounced off, falling to the floor. Connor made no move to reach for it.

“Seriously, at least put yer bathrobe back on,” Murphy admonished, “It's freezing in here.”

But Connor couldn't look at him, not now, after he had just tried to burn the sin out of his body.

“Conn?” Murphy asked, the frown audible in his voice, “Ya alright?”

Knowing his brother wouldn't shut up otherwise, he moved his head in a weak nod, face mashed into the pillow. He could faintly hear Murphy step closer, but then stop, letting out a low curse.

“Did ya spill water on the floor? Jesus, at least mop it up or we'll be ice skating in here for the next few days.”

Connor knew he should reply, but his tongue was as heavy as the rest of him. He couldn't even form the words.

“Conn?” Murphy asked again, much more worried than before. After a moment's hesitation, he sat down on the bed. Connor's brain told him to scoot aside, but his body wouldn't obey.

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm and pain shot through his body as if he had been electrocuted. He hissed, drawing away, trying to get away from the touch. But now he had definitely aroused Murphy's suspicion.

“Yer hurt,” Murph realized and there was a little hitch in his voice, “What the fuck happened?”

“Burned myself,” Connor answered and it was not even a lie.

“Burned? - Fuck, Connor!” There was a metallic clanking and Connor knew Murphy must've discovered the kettle on the floor.  
“What were ye tryin' ta do?” Murphy demanded. When he grabbed Connor by the shoulder now his hands were gentle but insistent. Helplessly Connor let himself be flipped over on his back, allowing better access to his arm.

“Fuck!” Murphy gasped at once, and Connor didn't need to open his eyes to know that he had found the angry red and blistered skin of his forearm.

“What the hell happened?” Murphy wanted to know again, “Why didn't ya bandage it? Did ya at least cool it? Fuck! It looks like yer skin is about to peel off!”

“'m okay,” Connor mumbled, not wanting to acknowledge the symbol of his weakness.

“Okay?” Murphy repeated in disbelief, “It fucken looks like ye wanted ta cook yer arm for dinner, Conn!”

“'s not that bad,” Connor attempted to pull his arm back but didn't succeed, “Just want ta sleep.”

“I'm gonna put some salve on that,” Murph promised, but there was an edge to it, “And then we're gonna talk.”

 

Leviticus 12:22 – If men lie with men as they lie with women, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death, their blood shall be upon them.

They had not talked last night. Connor had fallen asleep or passed out or whatever, and this morning he had woken before sunrise and he had left before Murphy even noticed.

His arm was bandaged and still hurt, but he reminded himself that it was just punishment. Murphy was right, though. Maybe he needed to talk to someone after all.

So now he found himself in the confessional, with his hands folded in front of him and Father Donald on the other side.  
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he spoke, knowing that he couldn't say too much because the Father must've already recognized him by his voice, which meant he couldn't reveal everything.

“Those who seek forgiveness with honest remorse in their hearts shall surely receive it,” the pastor said calmly, his tone as warm and kind as always, “What is that sin you speak of?”

“I have lied,” Connor admitted, “Outright and by ommission. I have... coveted that which is not mine. I have abused the trust of someone I love. I have engaged in sins of the flesh.”

When he paused he let out a shuddering breath and Father Donald already used that as an opportunity to speak.  
“When you speak of those sins,” he asked, “Are they deeds you have forced upon another person? Have you touched them against their will?”

“No!” Connor hurried to say, belatedly realizing how incriminating his confession must've sounded, “I would never do that! It's just that those thoughts keep consuming me. I try to fight them down, but whenever he touches me-”

“Ah,” the pastor let out a knowing huff, tinged with relief and amusement, “So that's the problem.”

“Father?” Connor asked uncertainly.

“Son,” Father Donals said indulgently, before correcting himself, “Connor. Surely you agree that some parts of the Bible are a bit outdated and that we cannot take everything literally? You wouldn't stone an adulterss to death now, would you?”

“Of course not,” Connor nodded quickly, “But-”

“But an inclination towards men – or just one man in particular – will not damn you in the eyes of the Lord,” the priest assured him, “Are your feelings purely of the body or of the mind as well?”

Connor lowered his eyes.

“I love him with all of my heart,” he whispered.

“Then no sin has been committed,” the other man assured him, “And I will not make you pray for absolution. Instead I want you to seek out that person and tell them everything you have just told me. Just don't make it sound quite so dreadfully wrong.”

“I can't,” Connor moaned in despair, “It would scare him away forever. I cannot lose him.”

“Lying is what will make you lose him for sure,” the pastor pointed out, “He may reject you. He may distance himself from you. But you will have given him a choice. Instead of confessing your sins to me, you should go and confess your love to him.”

 

Jeremiah 17:9 – The heart if deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can understand it?

Connor was so lost in his thoughts that he walked back to their block in a daze, his feet following the well-known path on autopilot. Before he even knew it he had walked up all the stairs because the elevator was broken again, and then he was standing in front of the door to their loft and pushing it open.

Something soared past his head and hit the wall, finally making him snap out of his distraught musings. His gaze dropped to the fallen projectile – Murphy’s left boot – and then snapped up to meet his brother’s eyes instead.

Murphy was angry, possibly angrier than Connor had ever seen him, and he was shaking with it, ire radiating off him like dark miasma.

“Where have you been, you fucker?!” Murphy yelled and then hurled his other boot at him. This time Connor was quick enough to duck aside, the hitting the door with a dull thud.

“Quit yelling,” Connor murmured only, “The neighbors will complain.”

“The neighbors never complain, you twat!” Murphy hissed, “And if they do I will kick their fucking asses out of the apartment!”

“Whatever,” Connor said and rubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted, body and mind, and he just needed some quiet. It wasn’t like he had seriously considered following Father Donald’s advice, but he had hope that he could just come home and smooth things over with Murphy. Go back to how things were before. And now this.

“I was fuckin worried about ye!” Murphy was obviously not planning on just letting it go, “ Last night ye pull that shit and this morning I wake up and yer gone! What the hell was I supposed ta think?!”

“’just went to church, Murphy,” Connor shrugged him off, glad that he didn’t even have to lie, and made his way over to the fridge. He needed something cool to put on his burn which was itching unpleasantly.

“Well, fucken surprise!” Murphy followed after him, hovering in his periphery like a dog just waiting to attack, “Yer barely ever out of church nowadays. Ye tryin’ ta become a saint or what? If ye spend any more time on yer knees ye might as well be a poofter!”

Connor slammed the door of the fridge shut without even taking anything out of it.

“Fuck you, Murph!” he shouted back because all of this was suddenly hitting too close to home, “I don’t have to explain myself to you! I don’t fucken care what you think. I don’t have ta be here all the time to hold your hand. Grow up an’ learn ta live your own life. We won’t be together forever.”

It was’t a punch or a terrible insult, but Murphy recoiled as if Connor had tossed a bucket of burning oil on him.

“Ya don’t mean that,” Murphy said and suddenly his voice was a mere whisper, broken and frightened, “Why would ya say that?”

“Face it, Murph, we’re two grown-ass men,” Connor told him, though he kept his eyes averted so he would not have to see the look on his brother’s face, “We’re twenty-five now. We can’t keep living in this shithole forever. Someday we’re going to get a proper job and- and find a girl to marry and just do stuff that doesn’t involve you following me around like a lost puppy.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” Murphy shook his head in obvious denial, “When we left home we promised mom we’d stay together. We’d take care of each other. You promised, Connor.”

“And I’ll keep my words,” Connor nodded off-handedly, “But it’s not like we’re conjoined or something. We have to learn how to live apart. It’s for the best.”

“No,” Murphy’s face scrunched up and Connor hadn’t seen this happening in a while, but he knew that this was what his brother looked like when he tried not to cry.

“I fucked up,” Murphy suddenly said, angrily brushing a wrist over his eyes, his sleeve wiping away the tears that threatened to escaped, “It’s all my fault, I know it is. I tried to stop, I really did, ya have ta believe me, Conn.”

Connor, though, had no idea what Murphy was talking about and just watched him in bewilderment.

“I promise I’ll be better,” Murphy said, a hiccup in his voice now, nearly a sob, “We can… we can move and get a flat with separate bedrooms. And I won’t bother you, I swear. Just please don’t leave me.”

Connor couldn’t help but sigh.

“Murph,” he said, trying to stay calm, “I have no idea what yer talking about. And this has nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t lie!” Murphy bit out, “Ye haven’t looked at me in ages. Ye don’t touch me anymore. Yer weird when we’re at Doc’s and when we’re alone. And I know that I made it weird, but don’t just stop talking to me. Don’t just walk away. If you… if you hate me I don’t know what I would do.”

Connor frowned, “I don’t hate you, Murph. I’ve just been an ass because… well, that’s on me, not you. Nothing to worry about.” 

He had noticed, of course, that the more he tried to withdraw the more clingy Murphy had become. Which had only fueled Connor’s shameful desires as if there were hope for his feelings to be returned.

So the best way was if they parted ways, if only for a while. Connor could clear his head. And Murphy would be safe.

“Don’t lie ta me,” Murphy only begged and his eyes were filled with tears now, helpless and crestfallen, “If yer… if yer gonna go, at least be honest about it. I’m a freak and I disgust you and that’s that. Just… just say it and be done with it. If you say it that’ll make it more real. I can… I think I can accept it then. Just don’t ever lie to me, Conn.”

“What the hell are ye talking about?” Connor was feeling more and more confused, not understanding why Murphy seemed to convinced that he had done anything wrong.

“Yer not a freak,” he assured his brother, “In fact, if anyone is an abomination here it’s me. I’ve… I’ve strayed from the right path and I have to find my way back. Just… I do not deserve your forgiveness when I cannot even forgive myself.”

This was what Father Donald had talked about, Connor realized. For he could not rid himself of his feelings, he could not expect Murphy to tolerate them – but he would have to bare himself in order wash himself of his sins.

So Connor took a deep breath.

“Murphy,” he began, closing his eyes against the sickened look that would no doubt consume his brother’s familiar face, “I leave you not because of any of your faults, but because of my own. I do not wish to stain you, but you deserve the truth. My thoughts towards you have been… sinful and depraved. I have coveted you –and your body – for a long time now.”

He hesitated, even though all seemed said now.

“I love you,” he added, his heart seizing, “As no man should ever love a brother.”

There was no reaction from Murph. No yelling, no chuckling at the supposed joke. Just nothing. Shock, Connor thought mildly. Anyone would be in shock after such a revelation.

Finally, he dared to glance up, prepared to see his twin’s face twisted into a horrible grimace.

Instead Murphy was just staring at him.

“You don’t want to leave me,” Murphy breathed, his eyes wide, “You love me.”

“I have to leave you because I love you,” Connor corrected though it pained him to say the words.

“I thought,” Murphy was shaking his head as if to clear it, “I thought you wanted to leave because of me. Because I had become so obvious.”

“Obvious about what?” Connor asked, feeling unsteady on his feet. He had expected fists and harsh words. Not a look of amazement in Murphy’s eyes and a marveling tone in his voice.

But now instead of answering, Murphy stepped forward. Automatically Connor stepped back as well, but the fridge was behind him, and then Murphy was up in his space, hands circling his upper arms so he couldn’t twist away, and then suddenly Murphy was kissing him.

Not a hard kiss, a passionate kiss, as Connor had so often envisioned. This one was chaste, but not exactly brotherly either.  
Murphy’s lips moved against his own and Connor knew not how to react.

This is a dream, he thought faintly, A nightmare come to taunt me.

“I love you,” Murphy said against his lips and he sounded choked once more, “I love you as you love me and we are two stupid pillocks with our heads so far up our asses that we couldn’t figure it out.”

And his arms were around Connor then, his whole weight hanging from his head as if dragging Connor down into Hell, and yet it felt like Heaven. The devil’s temptation, Connor thought, A Faustian deal.

“And you wanted to leave,” Murphy huffed and it wasn’t even a kiss now, just a touching of lips, “You fucken pray for absolution and don’t even think to tell me what’s wrong.”

Connor was at a loss of words, though. The past few weeks, month really, flashing past as he remembered all those moments in which Murphy had turned towards him while he had turned away. So Murphy had closed himself of and Connor closed himself off and bit by bit there were losing each other in silences and misunderstandings.

“You’re supposed to kiss me back now,” Murphy reminded him as if they had done this plenty of times before. 

They had, in Connor’s dreams. And in Murphy’s as well as it seemed.

Tentatively, Connor pressed his lips against Murphy’s in response and Murphy gave a contented sigh.

“I can’t believe we almost fucked it all up,” Murphy said and smiled happily when finally Connor’s arms came up to return the tight embrace, “We’ve been running in circles all this time.”

“Yeah, well,” Connor hedged, thinking of the burn on his arm and the bruises on his knees and then dark thoughts of damnation that still kept nagging at the back of his mind, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

And it wasn’t until two years later when he was jerking awake in a prison cell with a stranger’s voice in his head and God’s breath in his lungs that he knew his words were true after all.

He was no saint, not as the tabloids had taken to calling him and his brother. But maybe he wasn’t exactly a sinner either.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, okay, the ending feels rather rushed, so maybe I'll look it over at some point, but for now I just wanted to get it out there.


End file.
